


when did you last let your heart decide?

by Callioope



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Aladdin AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Imperial Disguise!Cassian, Jyn goes with Galen, Rebelcaptainprompts, Temptation, Tumblr Prompt, Undercover Missions, disguises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 09:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10273751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callioope/pseuds/Callioope
Summary: When Cassian runs into Jyn Erso in the marketplace on Jedha, the rebellion can't resist the opportunity to convert the daughter of an Imperial weapons scientist into an asset.But after years of recruiting, of coaxing others to give in to their own impulses, Cassian hesitates. Can he bring himself to persuade the first person he's loved in years to risk her life?





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is what I spent my weekend doing instead of writing Whatever I Do. I had this idea floating in the back of my head, and when I saw the "Temptation" prompt at rebelcaptainprompts on Tumblr, well, this happened. 
> 
> This is Canon Divergent & I've messed with the timeline. Some Key Points:  
> \- Lyra and Jyn don't escape on Lah’Mu and instead end up going with Galen and Krennic  
> \- The rebellion finds out about the Death Star three years earlier, and while Bodhi does not defect, the Partisans/Jedha are still involved somehow in the intel. I kept Tivik because I think that's a very important scene for Cassian's character.
> 
> (Also, why can't I ever keep things short? I don't know.)
> 
>  **EDIT** : I should have noted, the title is a line from _A Whole New World_. :)

 

 

 

Temptation strings Cassian through life.

When the Empire kills his family, rebels hand him a grenade and promise the thrill of revenge. He is only eight years old, has been throwing rocks at Imperials for two years, and his heart aches. He believes them.

When he assassinates a high-ranking Imperial official, Davits Draven praises his skills and promises him a ride off of Fest and the glory of saving the whole galaxy. He is thirteen years old, and Fest feels like sorrow. He doesn’t look back.

When he races across the galaxy to the Ring of Kafrene, Tivik says the name Erso and promises the answer to the deadliest lead he’s ever encountered. He is twenty-three, and the desperation to _know_ pulls his strings. He is the reason Tivik has to die.

For every temptation that drives him, he casts his own out into the universe. He’s a spy. He lures, dangles his own promises, coaxes others to give in to their own impulses. Whatever needs to be done, for the rebellion. Whatever the cost, it’s worth dying for.

#

Jedha is considered a war zone, so when a top Imperial scientist and a Lieutenant Commander arrive to visit the kyber mine, the Empire doubles down on security. Stormtroopers mingle with beggars and pilgrims in the moseying river of people.

Cassian knows how to melt into the crowd, but with the Imperial presence, his paranoia shifts into overdrive. Only years of training allow him to keep an eye out without drawing attention; he knows how to watch from the corner of his eyes, doesn’t need to look over his shoulder.

Only when he reaches the agreed upon rendezvous does he allow himself to relax. Just a little. His contact hasn’t arrived, so he settles on a stoop and watches the marketplace.

Two hours later, his contact is a no-show. He’s thinking about leaving when a woman catches his eye. Not a local, not a beggar, not even a pilgrim. Her distracted gaze as she passes each merchant, wide-eyed and curious, reveals: tourist. Cassian’s own gaze lingers; she’s obviously put some attempt in at blending in, with a scarf wrapped around her head, pooling around her neck. But it does little to conceal her. Even from here, the other end of the street, he can see the green of her eyes.

She pauses next to two Guardians of the Whills, fingering a crystal around her neck. They tease a smile, a laugh out of her, before she moves on to the next stall and nearly trips over a child. He’s eying the fruit, grubby hands clutching the edge of the table but not touching anything.

Without hesitation, she picks one up and hands one to the boy. Immediately, the merchant yells, waving over two weary stormtroopers. For her part, the woman doesn’t back down. The wonder in her eyes burns into anger. It’s not until he hears her yelling something about going to the Imperial compound that he realizes he’s crossed the street, his traitorous feet working of their own accord.

“There you are,” he hears himself say. Confusion swirls in with her anger, and for a man who only ever wears one expression, the range of emotions that flit across her face is dizzying.

He grabs her shoulders, leans in. “Play along,” he whispers, so soft he hopes she hears.

“Hello, officers,” he says to the stormtroopers. “What seems to be the problem?”

“You know this woman?” one of the ‘troopers asks.

“She’s my sister.”

The woman’s brows furrow.

Cassian turns away from her, looking straight at one of the ‘troopers. “Did she get into trouble? She hasn’t been herself since the rebel attack last week.” He points to his head. “Flying debris.”

The stormtrooper shifts on his feet. Cassian doesn’t look at the woman, but feels her glare on the back of his head.

“She stole a piece of fruit,” the merchant says, behind him.

“That’s all?” Cassian says, digging into his pocket. “How much was it?”

The merchant overcharges him by more than twice the cost of a piece of fruit, but Cassian hands over the credits without argument.

“She said something about the Imperial compound,” the other stormtrooper says.

“She thinks the temple is the compound,” he says, gesturing towards the temple with his head.

The woman finally comes around. “Look, I see it!” She clutches at Cassian’s arm and points. “Let’s go, brother, let’s go meet the Emperor!”

She tugs on his sleeve and starts in that direction.

“I’d like to see some identification,” the first ‘trooper says. Kriff.

“Of course,” Cassian says. “May I?”

He points to his coat pocket, and the ‘trooper nods. As he reaches in, he scans the street one more time, but these are the only ‘troopers in sight. It happens in a flash, two bolts in quick succession. Then he grabs the woman’s hand and whisks her into the nearest alley.

“Hey!” she shouts behind him, but he doesn’t let go; insteads shifts into a run, racing back through side alleys. “Let me go!”

He yanks her around a corner, and they barrel right into a group of five troopers. Disheveled, panting—they’re obviously in trouble. But before he can shoot again, she breaks free of his grip. With a quick flick, she reveals a truncheon. He points his gun, waiting for a target, but she’s in the way as she ducks, bats, punches. Somehow she ends up with her own blaster, and as the last trooper falls, he lowers his own.

Well.

#

“Cassian,” he says, ten minutes later, ducked into the shadows of a derelict building on the outskirts of the city.

“Liana,” she says. It’s not her name, he knows that straight away, but he won’t begrudge a person their disguise.

“Are you a rebel?” she asks.

“Are you?” Perhaps she’s a Partisan.

She shrugs, and smiles, and pulls out two fruit from her bag. She hands one to him.

“When did you get this?” he asks, an eyebrow raised, a smirk commandeering his face.

She shrugs again, and smiles again, and Cassian Andor is very much in trouble.

Silence falls between them, and he looks out at the setting sun. Purples and blues smear into gold.

“So,” he says, finishing the fruit. “What brings you to NiJedha?”

She looks down at her own fruit, half-finished, and picks at the skin. “I’m running away.”

“From?”

She peers at him from the corners of her eyes, evaluating. “Trust goes both ways,” she says, finally. “What brings _you_ here?”

“Business,” he settles on.

She arches a brow. “Business? In a holy city? What trade?”

“Secret.” He wonders if she’ll pick up on his double meaning.

“Don’t chat my ear off,” she says, only somewhat bitterly. She sighs. Glances at him again. “My family—we’ve done some things I’m not proud of. Things that aren’t right. Aren’t kind. And I… don’t want to be a part of it anymore.”

The pink light dances on her face, plays with the green hues of her eyes. Her face of many expressions (all of which he’s committed to memory, catalogued) falls into thoughtful regret. She turns away, out towards the sunset. Her bangs float around her face in the light wind, and she shivers slightly.

“I ran away once, too,” he says, his hand on her shoulder. He doesn’t lie to himself (doesn’t allow it), the desire burning in him is a rare type of temptation for him. But he’s not totally devoid of control, and besides, he might be able to kill two birds with one stone. So he permits a memory of Fest, of his mother, and sheds his neutral expression for another. It’s just brief, as if he’s given her this glimpse mistakenly, and then he says, “But I found a new home.”

She turns from the sunset to him, and their faces are just inches away.

“You are a rebel,” she says, softly.

Recruiting can be a tenuous game, and this is not a strategy he typically utilizes, but some type of seduction always plays a role.

“Hey, you!”

He turns to sprint away, again, but this time her hand grabs his wrist and keeps him put.

“What’s the problem, officer?” she says, not at all the confused, yelling girl from the marketplace. She almost sounds like a commanding officer, herself.

“This man is wanted for killing two stormtroopers,” one says.

“You have the wrong man,” she says.

“Step aside, ma’am.”

She rips off her scarf.

“Miss Erso,” one of them says.

Cassian’s eyebrows rocket to the sky as he looks back at the woman. Her eyes are blazing.

“Let him go,” she says.

“Your father put out a search warrant for you,” the trooper says.

“Let him go, and I’ll return with you.”

The stormtroopers look at each other. Cassian doesn’t wait for a response. He breaks out of the woman’s grip—Erso, she is Jyn Erso, Galen Erso’s daughter. Without a word, he slips into the shadows and disappears.

#

For all the times he’s worn an Imperial uniform, he’ll never get used to the itch. Or the stiffness of the material. Or the way the collar seizes his neck.

He suppresses the urge to loosen it as he disembarks the shuttle. The Coruscanti crowd buzzes around him: others in similar Imperial uniforms, civilians in suits and dresses, elegant scarves, capes. Silver jewelry entwines women’s hair, dangles from their necks, ears, encircles their wrists.

All of it just a reminder, to him, of the vast gap between the oblivious rich in the Core and the oppressed poor of the Outer Rim. He clenches his gloved fists before reminding himself to relax, he’s got a part to play.

When word came that the Ersos would be on Coruscant, Draven remembered Cassian’s report from Jedha, from months ago. The report that detailed his run in with the daughter, the likelihood that perhaps she could become an asset, with the right opportunity.

“Now’s your chance,” Draven had said.

Joreth Sward hands his invitation and his ID to the security detail outside the banquet hall. He finds his contact already standing by their assigned table, chatting with his wife. Brecker Moro is by no means Alliance sympathetic; he has no idea that Cassian is not Joreth Sward. Cassian’s kept the relationship going for insides into parties like these, and as far as Moro is concerned, Joreth Sward is a rising star in the Imperial ranks.

He says as much several minutes later, when introducing Joreth to the honoree of the evening banquet, Galen Erso, his daughter Jyn, and his superior, Orson Krennic.

Cassian defers to Krennic first, as the highest ranking officer in the conversation.

“Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Commander,” he says. Lying is like breathing, when he’s undercover. “What a spectacular evening for tonight’s festivities.”

Krennic looks out the window. “Yes,” he says, his voice low, monotonous, bored.”Quite.”

Moro takes the reins of the conversation, steering them towards several military developments in the outer rim only after congratulating Galen Erso. With Krennic engaged, Cassian steals a glance at Jyn.

He stifles a smile when he looks at her. If Krennic was blatant about his boredom, Jyn might as well be standing at the podium, announcing hers to the guests. She’s slouched, one arm crossed over her chest while the other holds her drink perpetually in range of her lips. It’s almost gone already, and if that weren’t enough of a tell, her gaze is fixed on the closest server and the platter balanced in his hands. She doesn’t even bother to listen to Krennic or Moro. It’s rude, is what it is, and Joreth Sward would be offended and miffed, if he were at all a real person.

Galen clears his throat next to her, and both Jyn and Cassian turn back to the conversation.

“Did you hear that, Jyn?” Krennic says. “Sward here just served in Ondoron, putting down a group of rebel terrorists. That’s the sort of peacekeeping the galaxy needs.”

Cassian smiles, only because part of that sentence is true. But the rebel “terrorists” escaped, unharmed. Krennic doesn’t need to be corrected.

Jyn finally turns to him, giving more than the passing glance when Moro first introduced him. Her bland expression doesn’t change as she looks him up and down. The vein in his neck pulses against the collar, and he’s suddenly aware of how warm the room has gotten as more and more guests filter in.

“You should be spending more time with men like this, instead of that rabble crowd. Honestly, cargo pilots,” Krennic says, shaking his head.

Her eyes burn on his face, but he doesn’t suspect she’d recognize him. It’s been months since their brief interaction on Jedha, and he’s shaved off all his scruff, trimmed his hair, combed it into proper place. When he stares back at her, she gives no sign of recognition.

Downing the rest of her drink, she scowls. “If you’ll excuse me.” She raises her empty glass by way of explanation, and heads in the direction of the server she’d been eying, a huntress after pray.

“My apologies,” Galen Erso says to him, and again Cassian finds he has to wrench his gaze away from Jyn. “Jyn can be…”

“Bellicose?” Cassian offers.

Galen laughs. “A pretty-sounding word for a rather fierce sentiment. Yes, that sounds right.”

Cassian looks back over to where Jyn has cornered the server. Of course, she is pretty. Her hair twists up into an elegantly messy bun, bangs tracing the edges of her face (he’s reminded of a gentle wind at sunset). The updo exposes her pale shoulders, covered only briefly by the green straps of her dress. The crystal pendant—a kyber crystal, he realizes—hangs from her neck, dangling over her chest, just inches away from the plunging neckline. The top of her dress matches the green of her eyes, but the fabric (a light, gossamer fabric) fades into the blue of the sea.

Pretty isn’t worthy enough a word for her.

She catches his stare and glares.

That sense of impending trouble descends on him again, and fortunately, the banquet is about to begin. With polite farewells, Moro and “Sward” return to their seats.

#

Afterwards, he tracks her down to a balcony off the far corner of the hall, far from where the rests of the guests are mingling.

“You,” she says, by way of greeting, when she looks up to see him standing in the archway.

“Nice to see you again, too.” He joins her at the railing.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“Oh, just wanted to get some fresh air.” He coughs awkwardly. The air of Coruscant is anything but fresh. “Can’t a man enjoy the view?”

He looks out, and it’s all blazing lights, traffic, the noise of engines. When he looks at the sky, a sort of muted gray-purple, he can’t see a single star.

She crosses her arms.

“That’s not the only view,” he says, lowering his voice just a little.

She scoffs. “If that’s what you’re looking for, there’s plenty more inside.”

“Ah, but why risk having a pleasant conversation?”

He does catch just the slightest uptick at the corner of her mouth.

“So,” she says, watching his face with her predator eyes. “Again. What _are_ you doing here, Cassian?”

His jaw clenches, just briefly, the only sign of his surprise. “You must have me confused with someone else, Miss Erso.”

She tilts her head, skeptical. Her eyes run across him again. He doesn’t shiver, doesn’t tremble. He’s in excellent command of his motions, in fact. Body language is most of a disguise: posture, mannerisms, stride, expression. Joreth Sward stands tall, shoulders back, ever at attention; he gestures rarely, keeping his hands at his side or clasped; he walks with measured, efficient steps; and always, his gaze hovers between arrogance and judgment.

She takes all this in, and the skepticism fades back into apathy.

“What a pity,” she says.

“Is he a friend of yours?” he asks, without any discernible reason. There’s no advantage or intel to gain from the answer to this question. It’s a personal question, one that might even push her away.

“No,” she says absently, staring down at the airspeeders buzzing past.

“Looking for a ride?” he asks.

“Sure,” she says, still distant, now with a tinge of wry humor. “Off planet.”

It’s a daring answer to give an Imperial officer, considering her father’s position.

“Krennic proposed just such,” he lies. “Seemed to think you could use a distraction.”

She snorts. “Oh, really?” Her hand goes to her necklace and she seems thoughtful. “That’s what he said about mother.”

His eyebrows arch and it’s good she’s still not looking at him. What family issue did he just stumble into? He has very little intel on Galen Erso’s wife, even less than they’d had on Jyn. She isn’t often seen in the rare social gatherings that Erso attends, and she isn’t here tonight.

She whirls around to face him, and her bangs float around her face, brush her cheek. “Well. Where would you take me, then? Some Imperial outpost? Show me armies? Peacekeeping?” She scoffs. “Or some remote planet, scouting for kyber caves?”

“What would you rather?”

“I want to see the truth,” she says. Fire burns in her eyes. In the commercial light of Coruscant, the reds and yellows and greens of passing speeders, the soft orange glow from the banquet hall, she’s radiant. He’s breathless.

“What truth?” he asks.

“What really happens outside,” she waves, indicating the city, “all this.”

#

His lie becomes a truth. Krennic takes to the idea of one of the Empire’s golden officers taking Jyn under his wing. Cassian suspects it might solve a few problems in Krennic’s life: Jyn’s ever growing, restless hostility, the distraction this causes his top scientist, and the chance that ‘marrying her off’ to a military man might teach her some discipline (Cassian cringes even at the thought).

They’re given two weeks of leave.

Two weeks.

For a mission that has essentially become a vacation.

But it still is a mission, he reminds himself. A mission to convert Galen Erso’s daughter into an asset. To have a key figure on the inside, to get intel on this rumored planet killer.

He takes her to several planets with heavy Imperial presence, first. Beautiful ones, predictable ones, ones that Joreth Sward would take her to in order to seduce her. And while she occasionally does seem to enjoy the colors of a beautiful sunset, the smell of the sea breeze, the warmth of the sun on her bare back, by the fourth day she’s angry.

“This isn’t the truth,” she says, as they’re walking through a lush garden on some forest planet. “I want to see what the galaxy is really like.”

“Are you suggesting the rest of the galaxy isn’t like this?” He picks a fruit off a tree. “That the rest of the galaxy isn’t at peace?”

“Of course it isn’t,” she snaps. “The Outer Rim? The rebels?”

“The Empire will bring swift justice to those who cause chaos,” he says, and it’s really a testament to his years of training that he doesn’t gag on the words.

She mutters something under her breath, something that sounds like “no idea,” but he can’t be sure.

“The fringes of our society,” he continues, as if he hasn’t noticed, “attacked by terrorists, aren’t any more true than this. Besides, I can’t take you to a war zone.”

He watches her, waiting. Hoping.

“I’ve already been to a war zone. Jedha is a war zone.”

“Jedha?” he says, with Joreth’s arrogant laugh. “Why would someone like you go to Jedha?”

“My father had business there.”

“Business? In a holy city? What trade?”

Despite attending a banquet in Galen Erso’s honor, Joreth Sward has no idea what Erso actually does, except that he engineers weapons. Now what would a weapons engineer want to do with Jedha? Cassian knows, sure. But Joreth would not.

She smiles, vaguely. “Secret.”

“Well,” he says, still with Joreth’s swagger and tone, but his next words are dropped with a careful, casual air. “Don’t chat my ear off.”

He moves forward before seeing her expression, as if he’s grown bored with the conversation, as if he wants to move on.

#

She corners him in the cockpit, later.

“I was serious, earlier,” she says. He looks over his shoulder. The glowing white of hyperspace traces shadows around her chin and nose and eyes. Not a flattering look for most, but he’s finding that she’s beautiful in any lighting, most especially her eyes. She carries her own light within her.

“Take me to a planet with rebels.”

“Why do you want to go?”

“Truth.”

“Still?” He scoffs, but he’s growing tired of affecting Joreth’s attitude. “Why?”

“Because if there’s something I can do to help, I want to know.”

Cassian Andor very badly wants to kiss Jyn Erso at that statement. But Joreth simply cocks his head.

“Okay.”

“It’s not like—” She pauses, realizes she doesn’t have to fight. “Okay? Really?”

“Sure.”

“Why?” She still blazes, but it flickers a little in confusion.

“You’re not going to stop mentioning it, are you?”

“No.”

“So I’m saving myself the trouble.”

“How very thoughtful of you,” she says, but the bitter tone she goes for is lost behind her growing smile. “Where?”

“Klonoid, maybe. Or Lothal.”

Her eyes widen.

“Thank you,” she says, softly, stunned. How silly, he thinks, someone wanting so badly to go somewhere so dangerous. If it were anyone else, he’d almost think it a cruel kind of privileged tourism, for someone who can pick up and leave, and not live in the kind of constant danger prevalent on these planets, to do something like this.

But he sees something different in Jyn. Sincerity. And she could become a valuable asset, possibly the most valuable asset, if she knows anything about this planet killer or can get access to information about it.

She leans over, suddenly, and kisses his cheek.

“Maybe I was wrong about you,” she says, and she’s gone from the cockpit before he can respond.

He is very, very glad that he did not bring K-2SO on this mission, because the droid no doubt would have something very vocal and embarrassing to say about the slack, dazed expression on the captain’s face.

#

Inevitably, they find trouble.

Off duty, “Joreth” doesn’t wear a uniform. And besides, it could hurt Joreth’s credibility to be taking Galen Erso’s daughter to planets with any kind of threatening rebel presence, so he decides against using the identity to get them out.

Which is how, once again, they’re running through Imperial-infested streets, down alleys, winding around corners, ducking into alcoves.

Again, stumbling into more stormtroopers than they should be able to take on their own. Again, Jyn pulling out her truncheon. (She’ll explain when he asks, later, that she enrolled in a self defense class out of boredom, and found she enjoyed combat, and so enrolled in any martial arts course she could find.)

But right now, there’s no time for questions. A whirl of motion, bright blaster fire, scorched air and armor, and just as suddenly, the battle ends, the alleyway still. A stormtrooper with a blaster to Jyn’s head and an arm around her throat.

He starts to speak, but Cassian doesn’t wait and fires.

Staring down at her feet, where the body lands, Jyn’s hands go to her crystal. Her bangs shroud her face until she shakes them out of the way and looks up at him.

“Nice shot, Cassian,” she says, when she catches her breath. He won’t notice the use of his name until later. For now, he nods in acknowledgement and takes her hand and they hurry forward.

Several blocks later, a narrow alley way funnels them right into a throng of people. Colliding with several irritated shoppers, he almost loses Jyn in the push and shove, until all of a sudden, he’s pushed and shoved into an alcove.

Cassian’s accustomed to crowds and chaos, but blaster fire still echoes in his head, mingling with voices and laughs of the street, and the juxtaposition of the sounds catches him by surprise.

Not as much surprise as Jyn’s lips on his.

She’s cornered him, pressed his back against the wall, tugged his shirt to pull him down, and for a second, the only sound is the beat of his heart in his ears. Distantly, he hears the murmur of the street crackling into surprise, the quick staccato of running boots on pavement, the static speakers of stormtroopers saying, “This way.”

But only part of him is paying attention to all that.

Most of him is focused on the warmth of Jyn’s lips, her tongue sliding into his mouth, the silk of her hair sliding through his fingers and out of her bun, the press of her body against his. A new feeling bubbles in his chest, something warm and floating, a vision of just him and Jyn, side by side, fighting Imperials, in the clearcut way of old holodramas, and none of the gray justifications of who lives and who dies in the name of sacrifice for a greater cause.

Finally, Jyn pulls away, just enough to catch her breath. Just inches away, he can see so clearly the different shades of green in her irises, the spots of darker color.

She clears her throat. Cheeks flushed, she nonetheless gazes at him with triumph.

“I knew it was you.”

“Pardon?”

“Cassian.”

“I…” And that’s the moment he realizes she said his name just after the fight, and he hadn’t batted an eye. Hadn’t corrected her or said anything. But couldn’t that be attributed to the distraction, the rush of battle?

He doesn’t know what to say, his brain clouded like it’s never been. When he looks back at the street, the stormtroopers must be long gone, the crowd has already filled in the wake behind them, their confused murmurs transitioning into awkward laughs and shrugs.

“You could waste your breath on another lie,” she says. “Or…”

He knows the ‘or,’ without her needing to finish the sentence, and he looks down at her lips. He has a better idea. He has a ship. A private ship.

#

He doesn’t let her surprise him again. He takes advantage of his longer stride to stay ahead of her. Keeping tabs on her out of the corner of his eye, over his shoulder, his fingers wrapped around her wrist. He says nothing, and he notices, when she thinks he’s not looking, how she bites her lip, suddenly unsure.

The ship’s ramp rises and closes as they’re still walking up it, and the second it’s closed, she speaks.

“Are you mad? Look, I thought you—”

He spins around and takes her face in his hands and kisses her. His fingers slide back into her hair, ruining her bun completely, pins clattering against the floor. She throws her arms around his neck, tiptoeing up to meet him, so he guides her backwards, towards a crate, lifts her hips as she hoists herself up onto it. Her legs wrap around his, drawing him closer, her fingers curl into his hair, and together they sigh, explore, kiss.

There’s a bunk, somewhere on this ship, he remembers in the fog of his brain. So he lifts her up, carries her to it (somehow his feet know the way well enough, without the aid of his higher functions). He settles her down gently, and, with no ulterior motives or promises, he gives into temptation.

#

“Hmm,” she murmurs absently against his chest. He strokes her hair, twirls it around his finger, breathes her in.

Cassian hasn’t given much thought to the idea of a good night’s sleep. Hasn’t slept well since as long as he can remember.

The bunk is cramped with two people, Jyn pressed up against his side, leg draped over his, his arm already going numb beneath her.

It’s the best sleep he’s ever had.

#

He couldn’t describe the two weeks he spends with Jyn as _happy_ , per se, because what they’re doing is finding small ways they can help the rebellion, without raising suspicion. In some ways, it’s even frustrating, taking microsteps when he’s been part of something bigger for so long.

But it seems to have an effect on Jyn.

“I don’t want to go back,” she says, when he comes back from the cockpit. She paces the length of the cargo hold, spins, comes back. “I want to join the rebellion. Really join.”

He says nothing. Leans against the wall. Crosses his arms.

“It’s not enough,” she says. “I haven’t done enough.”

“What do you want to do?”

She cocks her head to the side. Returns to his end of the cargo hold, stands just a foot away. “What do you do?”

He imagines having Jyn as a partner, again. This time, he wonders if that’s what she’d really want. The things he does… He hears her voice, from Jedha. “ _We’ve done some things I’m not proud of. Things that aren’t right. Aren’t kind._ ”

He sighs, rubs his hand through his hair, over his stubble.

“Recruiting,” he says, tentatively.

She puts her hands on her hips, does her best to look through him. “Is that what this is?”

“Yes,” he says. “And also no.”

“What does that mean?”

 _I’m not sure_ , is what he wants to say. Or, _I’m not sure I’m ready to know what it means_. For the first time, he’s found someone who’s worth more than her value as an asset.

But she’s still an asset, and he’s going to have to tell her eventually.

“It means we need you to go back,” he says, finally. She stares up at him, chin jutting out, her warrior face.

“I can’t go back to...” she starts. Then, “Why?”

“The planet killer,” he says, watching her carefully. It’s as if she’s turned to statue. Then the light flickers in her eyes and she looks away.

“You know about that?”

“Yes,” he says. “That’s why I’m here. With you.” Then he adds, quickly, “One of the reasons.”

“You want me to spy on my father.” Not a question.

“Yes.”

Her fingers curl into a fist and uncurl. She glances back at him out of the corner of her eye, through her bangs, barely turning her head.

“It’s too dangerous. I already know more than I should. I…”

“You want to do more.” Now she fully faces him, the light is back, anger directed at him. “It’s the most important mission there is.”

Her jaw clenches.

He’s been here before, the pivotal moment before an asset swings one way or the other. His record isn’t perfect (not everyone can be swayed), but it’s pretty good. He knows that her decision hinges on whatever words he says next. He can convince her.

Does he want to?

“What, exactly, would I need to do?” she asks, before he can think of what to say.

He opens his eyes, not even realizing he’d closed them. “Tell Krennic that your time with Joreth Sward has changed your view. You’ve seen the dangers of the rebel terrorists. You want to serve the Empire. Then get closer to your father’s project, and find out whatever you can. How far along schedule is it? Where is it being constructed? Does it have any flaws? What is it capable of? The more concrete information, if we can bring it before the senate…”

She sucks in a breath.

“Would you come with me?”

This time he consciously closes his eyes, puts his hand to his forehead, rubs his temple. If only he could. “I would be your contact,” he says. “But I can’t stay. It would risk this identity. And...”

“You have other missions.”

He nods, drops his arms to his sides.

“I’ll be on my own.”

Something twists in his chest, and he reaches for her hands but she turns away. “You’ll still be with your family.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t see them often, really. Papa is different, now. And mama...” Her face twists. “Krennic said that mama left. I don’t…” She crosses her arms; she’s shaking. “I think that maybe he had her killed.”

She doesn’t flinch away when he wraps his arms around her.

“Jyn…” he says, kissing the top of her head, burying his face in her hair. “If you can’t go back…”

She slides her arms around him, holding him close, tighter; his ribs hurt and he can barely breath and he knows he’s holding her just as tight, but neither of them pull away. Again he’s in that alternate world, where they work alongside each other, and maybe even something else, after. A world where the rebellion wins. It’s a dangerous dream to indulge in, but of course it’s the whole point in the first place, isn’t it?

Finally, she pulls away, looks up at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“I’ll do it,” she says.

“You don’t have to…” The words surprise him, and maybe it’s a bad thing after all, that Kay isn’t here to put some sense into him. He’s giving in to emotions and dreams and desires, rather than following logic and goals and needs. But.

Her eyes light up, brighter, more beautiful than any star he’s seen (and he’s seen so many).

“I do,” she says. “For mama, whatever happened to her. For papa, for the man he used to be. For the galaxy.”

He leans his forehead against hers and takes a deep breath. Again that feeling: _I’m in trouble_ , only now it sort of feels like something lighter. Something familiar.

“Will I see you again?” she asks.

“We’ll be in touch…”

“Will I _see_ you again?” she repeats, and he catches her meaning. He tucks her bangs behind her ear.

“I hope…”

“You hope?”

He nods. “Rebellions are built on hope.”

She reaches up, her hands to his cheeks, and kisses him.

#

When he leaves Jyn on Coruscant, he gives her instructions on how to contact him and promises a someday. He is twenty-three, and the familiar hole in his chest widens. He doesn’t remember the last time he cried.

When Jyn messages him for the last time, she writes “I’m going somewhere I won’t be able to reach you from,” and promises the ending will come soon. He is twenty-five, and soon seems like such an eternity. He suspects it will be never.

When Jyn lands on Yavin 4, she presents the rebellion with its greatest gift and promises a new hope. He is twenty-six years old, and buried possibilities are granted the light of day. He welcomes Jyn home.

For the first time since he was a child, he allows himself to believe in fairy tale endings. Whatever happens, it’s worth living for.

**Author's Note:**

> K-2SO was supposed to be Abu, but this was already way too long as it was.
> 
> Something I was toying with, but didn't make it into the story because see above re: long, was that Bodhi was going to defect on Jedha, but Jyn ended up taking his place at the last minute. The stormtroopers get involved before she reaches him, so Cassian never finds out that Jyn was the contact he was waiting for after all. Jyn doesn't know he was the person waiting for her either, so she doesn't mention it.
> 
> Whew, okay, thanks for reading!


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